Boundaries
by Jehan's Muse
Summary: Jack doesn't think he's been properly grateful to Norrington for letting him go...but his "thank you" goes further than expected. SLASH, Jack/Norrington, hints of Will/Norrington.
1. Norrington Contemplates

*stands and firmly plants "Norrington Defense League" flag in the ground*  
  
As the foremost--and only--member of this noble organization, I have made it my duty to counter the flood of "in the absence of any blatant villain, and because I'm not creative enough to make up my own, I'm going make Norrington a cruel, demented, vicious badguy" fics with my own fics portraying the honorable commodore more the way he was portrayed in the movie, as a slightly stuffy, straightlaced (though by no means straight...) kind of guy who likes to follow rules, but will bend them if given a really good reason to. He reminds me just a tad of Percy Weasley, except that Norrington isn't quite as ambitious and rule-obsessed. Kind of puts it in perspective, just a bit.  
  
I find the commodore's character very interesting, and I think he should really be given some more depth in fanfiction. I think all he needs is someone to love him. He's the kind of guy who really needs a hug. However, I staunchly refuse to write het, just as some authors blatantly refuse to write slash. I would rather see Norrington at the bottom of an ocean of badly-written Mary Sue fics than write him straight.   
  
Just one more note: I read something on IMDB.com about how promoting him to the rank of commodore in the movie was a mistake. Apparently, "commodore" is only a temporary title, granted to captains in times of need when they might have to command more than one ship, and revoked when the danger is past. Norrington should actually have been made an admiral, not a commodore. However, and I suppose this was Disney's reasoning behind it, I think "commodore" just sounds better. So I'll keep the title, and call him Commodore Norrington, but he'll be referred to as an admiral.  
  
Standard disclaimers apply. I've done enough talking as it is.  
  
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When the crowd had dispersed, Commodore Norrington returned to the wall to watch the black-sailed ship depart. "Good riddance," he murmured, not meaning a word of it. If he had his way, Captain Jack Sparrow would have more than a day's head start. It had hurt somewhere inside him to have to turn Jack over to the authorities...his conscience, he supposed, was what pained him. The law and his conscience did not always agree, which distressed him...surely he should think the law always right and just in its treatment of pirates. It was all they deserved, really, for all the carnage they wrought, all the raping, looting, murdering...death was too good for them.  
  
Somehow, he found it difficult to picture the swishy, limp-wristed pirate who radiated charm and cheer murdering or raping anyone. Looting, yes. Jack Sparrow was far too well-dressed to have gotten his finery by any honest means. But nothing mortally dreadful, no crimes worthy of death in and of themselves. He had listened, with almost bated breath, to the list of Jack's crimes as the executioner read them off. Theft, arson, impersonation of an officer, impersonation of a clergyman. No rape, no murder. The man was comparatively innocent as pirates went. It was just that the list was so bloody *long*...  
  
And Jack was up there rolling his eyes skyward, superbly unconcerned. Norrington believed he might have whistled, had he not been to bizarrely polite to interrupt the executioner as he read off the list. When Turner had made his daring rescue attempt, Norrington had clenched his teeth to keep from cheering him on. He had done his duty as if in a trance, giving the orders the law expected him to give, and somewhere, deep down, contradicting each one and hoping the pirate would escape safely.  
  
The ripples from the splash Jack had made as he fell had long since died away. Norrington remained on the wall, staring morosely down at the spot where they had been for a long time after.  
  
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Short, yes, but I only had 15 minutes. When Jack shows up, the chapters will become much longer, I promise. And the slash will grow much more blatant.   
  
Ave atque vale,  
  
--Jehan's Muse 


	2. Two Shillings

Wow! Two reviews, and the story isn't even up yet, as far as I can see! Don't know how that happened, but if it gets me reviews, I don't care. Just as long as they're either good or constructive. Pointless flames will be utterly disdained unless there is something constructive buried within them. I won't begrudge a reader the joy of flaming a fic, because I do it myself quite often, and I know it's fun. But I do make my flames constructive, tell them exactly *why* their story sucks and not just "This story is really bad! You suck! Don't ever write again!"   
  
Ahem. At any rate, Norrington needs a first name, perhaps even a middle name, and unfortunately "Percival Ignatius" is already taken. Usually, in situations such as these, I use the actor's name, but as Norrington was played by Jack Davenport, that would have the potential to be really confusing. So, any suggestions?  
  
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Commodore Norrington was having a decidedly pleasant dream, the like of which he hadn't had in a very long time. It was a confusing dream, to be sure; there were hands roving over his body, relaxing him to a degree he could never have achieved in waking life, and he could not see whom the hands belonged to.   
  
He woke drenched in sweat, and he wasn't sure whether it was sweat from what he had been doing in the dream or sweat from the knowledge that he shouldn't be having dreams like that. The hands in his dream had been a man's hands, skillful ones at that, and he had enjoyed that dream far more than any dream he'd had in years. He felt unclean, uncomfortable, chilled with guilt. I need a bath, he thought vaguely. His nightshirt was sticking to him.  
  
He dragged himself from the bed, staggered to the window and leaned heavily on the frame to get his bearings, allowing the wind from the bay to air out his damp nightshirt. The ships moored in the harbor, with their sturdy white sails, made his head spin. He closed his eyes, and the sails were tattered and black. "Good Lord," he murmured. "I need more sleep."  
  
He collapsed back into bed, and did not sleep for the rest of the night.  
  
**********  
  
The black-sailed ship was floating tantalizingly close to Port Royal, close enough for any British ship to catch it, if it wanted to be caught. Jack promised them he'd only be a day or three, and set off in a rowboat.  
  
No friendly visits to Will or Elizabeth were in order. He'd only been gone a day, after all. No, this was a business trip, a matter of public relations, as it were. He had a reputation to uphold.   
  
He had only to wait until nightfall. There were plenty of places to hide in Port Royal, and he had all day to plan a way to get into the building he needed to infiltrate. It should, he imagined, be simple enough. British guards were all buffoons, at any rate. He could probably walk right up to them and demand a formal audience with the Commodore and they'd let him in. Smiling wryly to himself, he wondered if they knew what "parlez" meant.  
  
Inspiration usually came to him when he was in his sarcastic moods. He knew of a perfect place to hide and plan, somewhere he'd be welcome.  
  
Perhaps a visit to Will *was* in order, after all.  
  
**********  
  
Will wasn't quite as pleased to see him as Jack had thought he would be. He found himself backed up against the anvil, an irate blacksmith waving a hammer in his face. "Are you mad, Jack? The whole guard's on the lookout for you! You had the good fortune to escape and now you're coming back? If the Commodore finds you--"  
  
"As a matter of fact," Jack said, gesturing delicately for Will to put the hammer down, "he's the very man I came to see. And you, of course, I came to see you too," he added, noticing Will's hand straying back towards the hammer. "I decided to visit with you first, and then to go find our mutual pal Norrington. I've got business...urgent business...to take care of with 'im." Urgent business, indeed. If someone doesn't pull that stick out of his arse soon, it could sprout roots and refuse to come out at all, he thought.   
  
"Urgent business? He'll have your neck in a noose, and mine too! Have some consideration, Jack, I can't go around saving your life all the time!"  
  
"You won't have to, mate," Jack assured him. "I just came by to thank 'im for the favors he's done us, and believe me, a 'thank you' from Captain Jack Sparrow isn't something one forgets easily, savvy? By the time I'm done with 'im, 'e won't want me dead, and that's for sure."   
  
"Can I ask what you're planning to do with him?"  
  
Jack grinned. "Now, that's not for your innocent young ears to hear. You get back to work, now. I'll just sit in the corner here and make my plans for tonight."  
  
Will gave up, and put the hammer back to its proper use. "If you go and get yourself arrested again," he said, raising his voice over the blows of the hammer, "don't expect me to come and bail you out!"  
  
"No worries, mate!" Jack leaned back against the wall. "I'll bet you two shillings Norrington'll pardon me when I'm through with him. And if he doesn't, I'll die two shillings richer."  
  
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I'm a lass of my word. The chapter was longer, and it featured Jack. Pirateslash is fun, but commodoreslash is better!  
  
Ave atque vale,  
  
--Jehan's Muse 


	3. Jack's Arrival

*giggles hysterically* I looked up the background of the guy who plays Norrington on IMDB.com, and apparently, his big claim to fame is that he's basically Ross in what seems to be the British equivalent of "Friends." Any Brits out there who have ever watched the show "Coupling?" I was reading the quotes from it and it just amused me to no end. ("Lap dancing is the ultimate nightmare of men. It's porn that can see you!")   
  
I wish I could watch the BBC, but since this is America, if I want a stupid sitcom over here I have to make do with "Friends." Bleh.  
  
Anyway, as for Norrington's first name, I'm still not sure..."Robert" sounds good, so that's a definite possibility, but I still like "Percival Ignatius." Would I really do that to the guy? I have a habit of giving my characters freaky names out of Shakespeare or Greco-Roman mythology. He's just lucky I'm not calling him Jachimo or Catullus or something. (Eh, so Catullus wasn't a myth. It's a cool name anyway.) All right, then, his name's Robert. Commodore Robert Norrington. It has a nice ring to it.  
  
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Norrington, having barricaded himself in his room, huddled in bed until two o'clock in the afternoon, as if the blankets would shield him from the awful truth he knew he'd have to come to terms with at some point. The locked door couldn't keep the rest of the world from finding out about it...it wasn't as if he could hide it, or deny it. The fact of the matter was that he'd been having inappropriate dreams--about men, no less--and he'd enjoyed them.  
  
What had happened to all the self-control he had built up so meticulously over the years? Even as a teenager he'd carefully isolated himself from distractions--sex, alcohol, everything else boys his age were experimenting with. Naturally, he'd been praised for it. And it had paid off, hadn't it? Captain at twenty and admiral at thirty...how many of his colleagues could claim that?   
  
Then again, how many of his colleagues were unmarried and miserable? There were always whispers behind his back, rumors, the occasional giggle as people speculated as to *why* exactly he wasn't married. Governor Swann, bless him, helped dissuade the rumor-mongers, defended him, but what good was that if the rumors were true?  
  
What puzzled him now was the law-vs.-conscience debate with a vengeance. It was unnatural--downright *wrong*--to feel this way about other men. The law said it, everyone knew it was so. There was no argument there, except for his conscience, which once again was protesting--it didn't *feel* wrong to be thinking of other men that way; the dream had been enjoyable, and why, after all, did everyone think it such an abomination?  
  
Norrington pulled the covers over his head. He hated arguing with his conscience. He never won.  
  
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Jack couldn't suppress a grin when he recognized the two guards watching the door of Norrington's office. Murtogg and Mullroy, if he recalled correctly. His first meeting with them, down at the docks on the day of Norrington's promotion, had left him with a profound sense of superiority. Getting into the building would be a piece of cake. "'Ello, there!" he called, waving cheerfully.  
  
"It's Mr. Sparrow!" Apparently, they remembered him, and not without a certain degree of admiration. Jack beamed.   
  
"What would two fine gentlemen like yourselves be doing here on a day like this?" he said, adopting a disarming, conversational tone.   
  
"It's our job," said Mullroy proudly, as if being assigned to watch the door of the Commodore's office was the highest honor one could receive. Murtogg nodded happily.   
  
"Hmm. And part of that job would be to admit visitors who request audience with the Commodore?"  
  
The two exchanged glances. "You want to see 'im, Captain Sparrow, sir?"  
  
"Aye, that I do. Don't suppose you could let me in, could you?"  
  
"No, sir!" Murtogg kept a firm grip on his bayonet. "No pirates in the Commodore's office. He said so himself." Mullroy elbowed him.  
  
"No, he didn't, thickhead. Why would he say a thing like that?"  
  
"I'm sure he didn't mean it," said Jack. "Besides, it's a very urgent matter. I'm sure he wouldn't object to having a pirate in his office if it was really an emergency, would he? I think he'd thank you for it, when all was said and done."  
  
Five minutes later, Jack was knocking at the door of Norrington's private chambers, grinning from ear to ear. 


	4. Ello, Love

Updating, tra la la la. Fanfiction.net is being uncooperative right now, and so I cannot post anything because there doesn't seem to be a damn server to be found anywhere on the site (how can you lose a server, anyway? For all the "cannot find server" messages that pop up on this site, you have to wonder where they keep all their servers. I picture a room full of dusty old servers, lots of clutter, empty soda cans...) But enough complaining.   
  
Someone commented on how Norrington is too stereotypically "woe is me, I'm sexually repressed." I can see what you mean, but at the same time, Norrington's function in the movie is to be stereotypical and repressive. I mean, this guy doesn't just have a stick up his arse, he's got an entire tree trunk. He loosens up a bit at the end, in tried-and-true sappy Disney fashion, but he's still Joe Anal-Retentive in a powdered wig. Hmm...Joe...Joseph Norrington...that sounds good, too...maybe it's his middle name?   
  
I agree that Norrington should have something to make his personality more original, but until I can think of a good way to make him original, he's going to stick with the sexually-repressed schpiel, because that can have some fun twists to it, too. I mean think about it...he's like some kind of really weird hybrid of Inspector Javert and Eponine. It's like a really bad Les Miz romancefic.  
  
Oh, and to my flamer, Pearlygurl: Thank you! I've finally been slash-flamed! The girls at the Slashers' Coven were so proud of me--I'm finally a full member now! And now I can sic them on you! *squeals* This is going to be so much fun! *rushes off to find Kat T, Schleamon-rhymes-with-demon and Deanie the Return-Flame Queen*  
  
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"You!"  
  
Jack grinned. "'Ello, love." He blocked the door with his hand to prevent the commodore slamming it shut, and immobilized him with his sultriest gaze, guaranteed to make even the hardiest of men and women melt into small puddles on the floor.  
  
Norrington panicked. He'd never been on the receiving end of that kind of look from *anyone,* let alone the very man he was supposed to have hung two days ago. "Get out!" he cried, trying in vain to shut the door. It was uncanny how Jack seemed to be able to read one's mind with a single glance. "Get out, leave me alone, go away, cease and desist..."  
  
"Oh, come now." Jack pushed past him easily, closed the door himself and locked it securely. "You can't tell me you aren't happy to see me."  
  
"I never wanted to see you again!" snapped Norrington. "You're the last person I want to see right now!"  
  
He was uncomfortably aware of Jack's good looks, and noted especially the long, slender, skillful-looking hands. The hands in his dream had been like that. He blanched and staggered backwards towards the bed. "Get away from me!" he cried, raising a hand to ward off Jack, who hadn't moved an inch from his place near the door.  
  
"Do you welcome all your visitors this warmly, or just me?" Jack smiled disarmingly and leaned against the door. "Nice nightshirt, by the way. Sleep in a bit late?"  
  
Norrington realized only then that he hadn't bothered to get dressed, and crimsoned furiously, stammering and pulling the blanket up over his lap. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined a scenario like this. It was akin to the dreams he occasionally had about showing up naked for drill and having the entire regiment laugh at him. Those dreams usually ended with him falling off the bridge and waking up just before he hit the rocks, but here he felt as though he were drowning. The entire scene had somewhat of a surreal quality to it...was it actually happening? "Am I dreaming?" he demanded, sincerely hoping the answer was yes.  
  
Jack shrugged. "Do you want to be dreaming, love?"  
  
"Yes," said Norrington decisively. "Yes, I do."  
  
"Then you're dreaming." Jack crossed the room to join Norrington on the bed, slipping a sensual arm around the commodore's lithe waist. "And I daresay it's going to be a pleasant dream."  
  
(A/N: I could end the chapter here, but I'm not that mean. Unlike some people I could mention, who leave their story at a crucial point and go off on vacation to Cape Cod without letting us know what happens to Norrington...hey, wait, I did that too. Never mind, I can't be complaining.)  
  
Norrington had the distinct feeling that none of it was really a dream, but his capacity for argument was rather diminished by the way the pirate was lightly caressing his thigh, sliding the other arm around his shoulders and playing idly with his hair. "Why...why are you here?" he breathed, too dizzy to care how undignified he must look.   
  
"Because I believe some thanks are in order," murmured Jack. "And a 'thank you' from Captain Jack Sparrow is a bit of a rare treat indeed."  
  
"I can imagine..." Why was he sitting back and letting all this happen to him? Why couldn't he summon the energy to care? Jack, too, noticed this, with a slight degree of amusement.  
  
"Not putting up much of a fight, are you, love?"   
  
"Get off me and we'll see how much of a fight I can put up," Norrington said, trying and failing to disentangle himself from Jack's loose embrace. Jack laughed.   
  
"But that would defeat the entire reason I've come here."  
  
"What, pray tell, is the reason you've come here? Surely you haven't risked your life simply to sneak into my chambers and embarrass me." Norrington's tone had regained a bit of its usual causticness, the effect of which was lost on the incorrigible pirate.   
  
"No," he said, "I haven't." Jack grinned predatorially. "I've come here to do this."  
  
He slipped an arm around the commodore's neck and pulled him into a slow, sensual kiss, the like of which Norrington couldn't remember experiencing in nearly 12 years. Frightened, he edged away. The dreamlike quality of the scene was lost; that kiss had been all too real, and he realized for the first time the situation he was in. He was sitting there, in nothing but his nightshirt, flirting with a pirate.  
  
"They certainly didn't cover *this* in standard Navy training," he murmured.   
  
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There's yer chapter, mates. Hot off the press. And now I have no clue what I'm going to do from here, so I'll need more inspiration from Elske and her "One Night More" fic. Ha! I have leverage! *dances*  
  
A bit of bad news for Robert-fans: I'm really going to have to change his name. I simply can't stand the idea of giving a character a normal, boring name. I mean, everyone else in the movie gets a cool name! Weatherby Swann, Joshamee Gibbs, so on and so forth. And I've been calling Norrington "Lysander Catullus" in my head for about a week now. *sigh* I pity my future children.  
  
Ave atque vale,  
  
--Jehan's Muse 


	5. Names and Lessons

Technically, I should be writing a book report now. However, when faced with the decision of slogging through the rest of "Guns, Germs and Steel," the most agonizingly boring book since "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," and write a three-page paper on it, or writing the next chapter of "Boundaries," the choice was rather an obvious one.   
  
For the one reviewer who wanted me to "hurry up and have Jack screw Norrington into the mattress..." I know, I know, I want that to happen just as much as you do! Unfortunately, I really have to keep this to a PG-13 rating--no explicit sex. I'll go as far as I can, but eventually I'll have to "fade to black" before all the good stuff happens. *sigh* Well...you can always use your imaginations...  
  
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"So," said Jack, raising his eyebrows suggestively, "are you going to fight me, or are you going to lie there and let me do whatever I please?"  
  
Norrington fixed him with the coldest stare he could manage. "I daresay you'll find I can hold my own against you, Sparrow."  
  
"Not when I do this," murmured Jack, sliding his hand firmly down Norrington's chest and coming to rest atop his stomach, relishing the short, sharp gasp that resulted. "Admit it, Commodore. You can't resist me."  
  
" I could resist you if I damn well wanted to."   
  
"But you don't damn well want to, do you?" Jack inched the hand lower still. "You wouldn't resist even if you could."  
  
"Damn you, Sparrow..." Norrington, breathless, attempted to sit up. Jack pushed him back down amongst the pillows.  
  
"Captain Sparrow, love." Jack grinned. "Unless you'd like this to be on a first-name basis? Tell me your given name and you can forgo the 'Captain.' I imagine we'll both be needing something good to scream, after all..."  
  
Norrington wasn't sure which made him blush more, the implications of Jack's comment or the prospect of admitting that he had a name like "Lysander Catullus." He glared up at the pirate who was bending over him with another of those wicked, sultry smiles. "That's rather all right...Captain."   
  
"Oh, what's the matter?" Jack traced idle patterns across the surface of Norrington's stomach with his index finger. "Embarrassed? Self-conscious? Is it something awful, like Horatio, or Gus?"  
  
Norrington, during a brief moment in which he was capable of lucid thought, decided he would much rather have been named Horatio than Lysander, but before he could reach a decision on Gus, all thoughts were drowned out by Jack's skillful ministrations again. "Oh god. Sparrow--"  
  
"Captain Sparrow, love," said Jack patiently. "It'd be easier if you'd just tell me. I won't laugh."  
  
"I don't...oh god...make a habit of--oh--telling people...telling people..." It was terribly difficult to keep his train of thought on track when Jack was doing things like that. "Sparrow!"  
  
"CAPTAIN Sparrow." Jack swirled the finger lower still. "Be less stressful if you could just call me Jack, you know...save a lot of unneeded effort all 'round..."  
  
"I won't...tell...won't let you..." Norrington swallowed, closing his eyes as Jack slid his other hand up through his hair, twirling a lock of it around one exquisite finger..."Lysander Catullus," he blurted, in a moment of weakness. "That's...my name. Lysander Catullus."  
  
"Lysander Catullus, eh?" Coming from Jack's talented, rum-tainted mouth, the name was beautiful. "Bit of a mouthful, but it suits you. Shakespeare, isn't it?"  
  
"Well, the 'Lysander' bit..." Norrington would have elaborated further, had Jack not decided that he would rather occupy their mouths with something more worthwhile than conversation. Norrington lay perfectly still, hands at his sides, as Jack kissed him, unsure of what exactly to do.   
  
Jack pulled away. "You're stiff as a board, mate. What's the matter?"  
  
"What do you mean, what's the matter?" Norrington flushed self-consciously. "Is something the matter?"  
  
"Nothing, except if I didn't know any better I'd say you were in rigor mortis. It'd be nice if you'd kiss me back, love." Jack brushed an errant lock of hair from Norrington's forehead. Norrington swatted his hand away irritably.  
  
"I don't know how," he said shortly. "You seem to assume that I make a habit of going about kissing everyone I meet. In polite society--"  
  
"Oh, to hell with polite society! You mean to say you've never kissed anyone before?" cried Jack, scandalized. Norrington scowled.  
  
"No," he said. "I haven't. Would you be so kind as to teach me, or is that too beneath you?"  
  
"Beneath me?" Jack smiled predatorially. "'Course it's not beneath me. I'll teach you everything I know." He reclined on the bed beside Norrington. "Which might take a while."  
  
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Everyone else at the Norrington Defense League was updating, and I felt left out. I was inspired by all the pretty new chapters, and the even prettier new pictures of Jack Davenport from "The Talented Mr. Ripley" that August posted. Inspiration is a wonderful thing. Especially if it's inspiration in a sequined trenchcoat, with sexy hair falling into his sexy eyes...  
  
Ave atque vale,  
  
--Jehan's Muse 


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